


All My Life Dreams Are Coming True Right Now. My Brother. My Best Friend.

by VenomQuill



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: I think it might have to do with coming back to Gravity Falls, Inverted Relativity Falls, Just a random celebration, M/M, Relativity Falls, either way Mabel throws the best parties, whoops I slipped and accidentally wrote Fiddauthor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: Mabel Pines is back in action and the first order of business? Throw a party, of course! Though Stanley loves parties, Stanford... has never really liked dancing.Set in Inverted Relativity Falls, where Mabel fell into the portal.





	All My Life Dreams Are Coming True Right Now. My Brother. My Best Friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: http://fav.me/dbl9rwc

Stanford, dressed up in a blue suit hand-made by his great aunt, stuck to his great uncle’s side. “Grunkle Dipper?” Stanford prompted. “Can I stay with you?”

Grunkle Dipper, holding a plastic cup half filled with Pitt Cola with both hands, nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t think you want to.”

“Why not?” Stanford glanced up.

Grunkle Dipper looked down. “Because Mabel did my hair and put me in this suit and I am guessing she’s going to find me and throw me on the dance floor in a few minutes.”

“I’m pretty sure Stanley’s going to do the same to me,” Stanford confessed.

“Siblings.”

“Siblings.”

Grunkle Dipper took a drink and looked over the crowd. “At least the crowd’s big. So, it’s not like we’d stand out or anything.”

Stanford nodded. “Mhm. We have a larger probability of gaining attention on the outside or very center than we would somewhere near the middle, probably facing the snack table.”

“The snack table is a focus of attention,” Grunkle Dipper pointed out. “It would make sense people near the snack table would gain attention, don’t you think?”

“It would make sense. However, the snack table would be a much larger focus than two people like us. If we were dressed like Grauntie Mabel or Stanley, we’d have a tougher time fitting in,” Stanford explained. “The snack table would be drawing attention away from us.”

“Good, good. Yes, that makes sense,” Grunkle Dipper agreed. “Where should we hide to ensure the two don’t find us too quickly?”

“Well, if I go with you, we could head over to where we would want to dance. That would mean two things. First: Grauntie Mabel will find you first, allowing me to make an escape as she’s concentrated on you. Second, that would mean we’d be in the perfect place when they do find us.”

“Hey, no abandoning your family,” Grunkle Dipper scolded, albeit with a smile. “But that sounds like a good idea. I think I see her. Come on.”

Stanford followed Grunkle Dipper and glanced in the direction he’d been looking. Stanford’s sparkly great aunt was talking to Maria. She had her hand by her mouth. With a wink, she was gone and Maria was shuffling her songs. Stanford grimaced. That was not good. Worse than that? Grauntie Mabel stopped to speak with Stanley. His cocky smile had turned into a devilish grin. “Dipper,” Stanford hissed, grabbing his great uncle’s attention. “I just saw Mabel whisper something to Maria and wink. She found Stanley. They’re planning something.”

“It’s worse than I imagined,” Grunkle Dipper breathed back. He looked around. “Uh… okay. I’m going to go to the planetarium. I need your help making sure the stars haven’t been messed with.”

Stanford nodded sharply. “I am behind you.”

“Plan B: you trip and get drink on you and I’ll bring you back so you can change. We’ll hide in my room.”

Stanford agreed, “Plan C: I bribe Fidds’ racoon in going outside and tell Mabel there’s a cat out back.”

Stanley popped up behind them. “Plan D: You get caught!”

Stanford yelped and jumped. Grunkle Dipper dropped his cup, spilling soda over the floor in front of them. “Stanley!”

Grauntie Mabel clapped a hand on Grunkle Dipper’s shoulder. “Hey, lady-killer. Remember me?”

“Mabel, please.” Grunkle Dipper turned around to face her. “I’ve got this mess to clean up. I can’t stay here for long.”

“Ah, it’s fine. We’ll clean it later.” Grauntie Mabel waved her hand. “Come on! You’re enjoying the party whether you like it or not!”

“I don’t think you are using the term ‘enjoying’ correctly!” Grunkle Dipper complained as he was led off to the crowd.

Stanford plucked Dipper’s cup off the ground and tried to run off when Stanley grabbed him by the back of the shirt. “Bro! Come on!”

Stanford stopped and waved him off. “Stanley!”

“One dance.” Stanley took Stanford by the arm. “Only one dance. Promise.”

Stanford sighed. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Reluctantly, Stanford relented. “Alright. I will go on _one_ dance.”

Stanley cheered. “He-yah! Whoop!” He spun around. “I’m going to tell Grauntie Mabel!”

“I think she’s busy,” Stanford pointed out.

On the dance floor, Grunkle Dipper was vainly trying to escape his sister’s grasp. However, it was futile. He was put on the dance floor. It wasn’t even a romantic song so he didn’t have to dance with anyone. Grauntie Mabel, giving constant encouragement and a peppy dance of her own, kept him in the song and lights.

Stanford took this opportunity to slip away. Or, at least, he tried to.

“Where are you goin’, Sixer?”

“Aren’t you, uh, going to find Susan?” Stanford prompted.

“Yeah, I will.” Stanley shrugged. “I mean, really just to protect her from those other dudes ’cause, you know, she’s pretty and other dudes stink. Mhm.”

“Pretty much,” Stanford agreed, more than a little skeptical.

“Ladies, gentlemen, your time.” Maria spoke into the microphone. The music changed. It was peppy and strong, but held the undertones of gentle romance.

Stanford looked about. “You know, I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

Stanley took him by the shoulder. “Come on, dude. You promised one dance.”

“Yeah. There are plenty of songs after this,” Stanford agreed.

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Ford! Relax! Partner up with someone and have a good time.” He glanced at Susan, standing shyly by the food table. Preston’s cool gaze found her. Stanley’s smile became strained as the hawk swooped down on the lone girl. “I’m keeping you to that promise, bro!” Stanley nonchalantly ran to her aid.

Stanford bit his lip. _Stanford didn’t even have anyone to dance with! Oh, dammit, Stanley! Stanford was going to look like a fool and it would be Stanley’s fault. Even if Stanford wanted to dance, no one else was free to do so._ He looked over the crowd and found a blonde girl, dancing on her own. He started toward her but stopped as he saw a boy join her. She giggled and he flashed a bright smile. They slowly turned the solo dance into a duo without a word being uttered. Ugh, _that_ guy was confident. Heck, Stanley was confident. Stanford, not so much.

Stanford looked back. Fiddleford stood by him. “Hey, Fidds. Stanley didn’t set you up, too, did he?”

“No, no.” Fiddleford replied quickly and then hesitated. “He’s a real pushy brother, huh? I… So, I, uh…” The boy struggled to speak before blurting out, “You want ta dance with me?” He froze and shut his mouth the instant he said the words.

Stanford stared at him, wide-eyed in shock. _What?_

Fiddleford–who was by now gaining a redness about his cheeks–continued, “No one else is on the dance floor and Ah didn’t want ya bein’ alone so Ah, uh, thought Ah’d ask you. Uh, sorry. That sounded better in ma head, Ah’ll admit.”

Stanford watched his friend stumble terribly over his words. Ugh, the poor boy was just as lost and awkward as him. At least he could pull off being cute about it. “I, uh… s-sure. Yeah. Stanley’s going to be bothering me, anyway. So, uh, yes.”

Fiddleford grinned and held out his hand. “You, uh, know any good dances?”

“Nope,” Stanford answered and took his hand.

“Well, uh, guess I’ll just have ta teach you!”

“We’re going to look like a couple of fools, you know,” Stanford pointed out.

“At least we’ll be fools together, right?” Fiddleford chuckled and stopped once they were an appropriate distance away from the food table. “Ah’ll, uh, take the blame for ya. People know me better than they know you, anyway.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Stanford took Fiddleford’s other hand. He listened intently to his friend as he taught him a simple dance- one prominent in young schools and prom dances. For a while, Stanford tripped over his own feet and had to hold onto his friend for support.

“Stop thinkin’ with that big head a’ yours,” Fiddleford commanded. “You dance with your heart, not yer mind. The music will tell ya where to go.”

“Th-that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It works,” Fiddleford offered.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Stanford tried to stay concentrated on learning and mimicking, but it was getting hard. The farther along into the upbeat song they got, the harder it was to stay focused. Before he knew it was happening, his mind was slowly becoming overrun by his heart. He became more confident and, in turn, much happier. He laughed and started to diverge from Fiddleford’s quick, smooth step to his own.

Then the song was over. Stanford found it a bit difficult to breath as the exercise had taken the breath out of him and his partner both. But was really jumpstarted his heart and mind was the fact that a few couples had paused in their own dance to watch the two boys.

When it did, Stanford found himself leaning on Fiddleford, practically nose to nose. Some claps rippled through the crowd as well as a few whistles. Fiddleford chuckled, “Guess they like your dancin’, Ford.”

“P-probably yours,” Stanford managed to get the words out. “Uh, well, the song ended. But, um… since people are staring anyway…”

Fiddleford tipped his head. “Don’t focus on the outside, Ford. Stay with me.”

The next song played. Like that last, it had energy to it. Stanford found that he liked energy. Indeed, once Stanford took his focus away from the crowd and focused on his best friend, he found his fears being pushed away and smothered. Later on, he knew he’d feel the hard, crushing pressure of embarrassment and uncertainty. After all, his partner was not only a person he spent lots of time with, but was also a _guy._ But, looking into Fiddleford’s bright blue eyes flecked minty green and feeling the energy of the song and feeling the odd rhythm of his own heart and feeling his overactive mind being put to rest made those cares go away.

This song ended, too. Damn. For the first time, Stanford found himself disappointed that a song like that ended.

“You tired already?” Fiddleford helped Stanford stand up straight and let go of his side, where he’d once led Stanford into a dip.

Stanford chuckled. “Actually… I…”

A new song played. This one was slower and calmer.

Stanford shrugged. “You, uh, don’t need to use very much energy in this one, do you?”

“Pretty much, no,” Fiddleford agreed. “So, are ya stayin’?”

Stanford looked about him. People had gone to focusing on their own partners again. A slight wonder came to him on how many were actually friends and how many were couples and how many were complete strangers. “Sure.”

_Dancing the night away._ The concept was foreign Stanford. He didn’t like dancing. He wasn’t as exuberant as his brother or aunt. Oh, definitely not his aunt. But today felt… different- a good kind of different.

Eventually, the genre of songs was changed. These were no longer the romantic ones couples danced in. This was one that could be for one or two people, either way worked. “Hmm… do ya know this one?” Fiddleford prompted.

“No,” Stanford answered with a shrug. “I don’t listen to very much in the way of music. Do you?”

Fiddleford nodded. “Yeah. The school plays this one every year. Want me to teach you?”

Stanford didn’t have to think on it. “Y-yeah! Er, yes. Please.”

As the night wore on and song after song played, people started to shuffle out. Stanford was exhausted. He’d never gone through so much exercise in his life. So, by the time the last song played, Stanford was about ready for a drink, some snacks, and to sit down, preferably for the rest of his life.

Fiddleford let go of Stanford and rocked on his heels. “Lee isn’t by the food table. Ah think we can sneak a few snacks in before he catches us.”

“That is a good idea,” Stanford wheezed and cleared his throat.

“You’re exhausted! Don’t tell me ya’ve never been to a dance before.”

“I have,” Stanford denied as they walked. “I’ve just… never danced with anyone before.”

“Why not?” Fiddleford prompted. “Ah’m certainly surprised no one asked you before Ah did. Not that Ah’m too sad over the fact, mind you.”

Stanford took a deep breath and grabbed a plate and cup. “Yeah, well, most girls don’t like talking to me. I’ve kind of just accepted it by this point.”

Fiddleford grabbed a cup and a plate. “Now that’s a darn shame. You’re a delight ta be with.”

Stanford stopped piling on his plate some Chipackerz and looked back at him. A dance that probably lasted longer than it should have was one thing. But actually thinking he was a _delight?_ Fiddleford was an amazing friend. He’d always been a good judge of character. If he thought Stanford was a good enough person to be called that, then… _wow._

“Stanford, you froze up a bit, there,” Fiddleford pointed out.

“Oh! Oh, right.” Stanford put down the box and piled on a few marshmallows. He plucked his drink of Pitt Cola off the table. “I’m a bit tired.”

“Ah’m a bit tuckered, too,” Fiddleford agreed.

The two walked in relative silent to a line of chairs against a wall. Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen Gompers all evening. What time was it, again? “So, uh… thanks.”

“Thanks?” Fiddleford echoed.

Stanford nodded and picked up a marshmallow. “For, you know… not letting me stand alone and awkwardly looking for someone to dance with and failing miserably. And for teaching me how to dance.”

Fiddleford chuckled and started on a slice of pie. “You’re ma best friend, Ford. Ah’d never leave ya hangin’ like that.” His accent had gotten thicker, Stanford noticed. He usually talked a bit slower to pronounce his words more clearly. Now he was speaking in just as an informal way as Stanford. Admittedly, he started to wonder why Fiddleford chose to smother such a unique way of speaking.

Eventually, their plates and cups became empty. Maria was halfway through putting away her equipment. No one else was in the party. Grauntie Mabel and Stanley weren’t there, oddly enough. Dan had probably snuck out a while ago. He never did stick around when there were chores to be done. Grunkle Dipper wasn’t there, either.

“Ah guess we’re gunna have to help with the cleanup?”

“Probably,” Stanford sighed. “Stanley’s so lazy.” Stanford was probably no better. He didn’t want to get up.

“Maybe he’s talkin’ with Ms. Pines somewhere,” Fiddleford suggested. “But, Ah aught ta be leavin’ soon. My Dad’ll be pickin’ me up.” He heaved himself out of his seat.

Stanford slowly got up as well and shuffled over to the foot table. “You don’t have to help. You helped set this whole thing up.”

“Posh.” Fiddleford started picking up dirty or broken disposable dishes around the table and the few seated tables a short distance away. “Ah’m not lettin’ ya clean this up on yer own.”

Stanford… didn’t feel like arguing. Cleaning up on his own did feel like a giant task.

Eventually, Fiddleford had to leave. Stanford said his good-byes as he finished crushing and then throwing the empty bottles of soda in the recycling bin.

Stanley popped up out of nowhere. “Ahh! Ford!”

Stanford screamed and dropped the bottle he was holding. He spun around and glowered at his brother. “Dangit, Stanley! Stop that!”

Stanley was grinning ear-to-ear. That was _never_ a good sign. “So, Grauntie Mabel’s making me help clean this mess up.” He went over to the chips and started rolling up the open bags. “I saw you out on the dancefloor, by the way. You even made Susan stop dancing to watch you. Who taught you how to do that?”

“Fiddleford,” Stanford answered, dropping the last of the bottles in the recycling bin. “He offered to teach me since, you know, no one else was available.”

“Ah, okay. Maybe I should ask him for lessons, then?” Stanley asked, his voice becoming a bit too smooth and sly for Stanford’s liking.

“Uh, no. You already know how to dance,” Stanford said too quickly. He went on to gather up the clean dishware for use of the next party. Stanley already knew how to dance. He was just messing with him. Besides, Fiddleford had been helping him out. Stanley didn’t need to be helped anymore. He was already good and very good at self-teaching, when it came to activities like sports and dancing. Stanford wasn’t as good so he needed the help.

Stanford picked up a few fliers around the place, ignoring his brother’s gaze.

That night, Stanford was too tired to do anything but collapse into his bed. His physical body wanted nothing more than to sink into the mattress and fall asleep. His mind was telling a very different story- a story about the day he’d just had. More specifically, the night he’d just had. Often, the thoughts he had after coming home from a dance were negative and plans on how to make himself invisible for the next week or month in school were being formed. He replayed the events that he’d just committed to memory. In New Jersey, this would just force him to get up and eat a few sleeping gummies and hope his brain would shut up long enough to not dwell on the night and go to sleep. These memories were too pleasant to give up, though.

_Fiddleford._

Every thought inevitably went to that one thing- that one boy who taught him how to dance. That was it, wasn’t it? He just taught him how to dance and kept him off the sideline so that Grauntie Mabel and Stanley wouldn’t bother him. That’s all that happened. It wasn’t like Stanford made up lame excuses as to why they should stay on the dance floor between songs. It’s not like he had felt more alive there than near any time in New Jersey. It’s not like he dwelled on the times in the beginning where they’d gotten so close their noses nearly touched. Or how Fiddleford would sometimes correct Stanford’s glasses for him or how Stanford had sometimes remake the old bow tie Fiddleford had as it came loose on occasion. It wasn’t like Stanford was thinking about him instead of going to sleep.

That was crazy talk. They were best friends. That’s how best friends felt, right? Right? He wasn’t going crazy. That weird feeling that dragged his gaze back to his best friend when they were together was a normal thing. Best friends were best friends for a reason- they had a lot in common and hung out together and stayed together quite a bit. Yeah, right. That was it. Stanford just didn’t think about it too hard. That was definitely it. Mhm. Not like he thought about the clarity of those blue eyes he could practically see himself in or the dirty blonde hair that would get in his own eyes or…

…Stanford should go to sleep.

Sleep. That’s what he should be doing.

Brain, shut up.

Heart, shut up.

No, his heart wasn’t talking. That was his brain being mean to him again. Brain, shut up.

…

He wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

Dammit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, not sorry. I'm not much into writing romance, but this was too cute to resist. What is with this how/fandom that makes me write things I don't want? Romance, Northwest Mansion Mystery, "suffocating", aching depressing angst... wow.
> 
> **EDIT:** GUYS! I don't know how, but I skipped over the CUTEST entries in the journal:  
>  -" **JULY 29th** " I am overcome with emotion. The sight of my old classmate upon my doorstep this morning filled my heart with such joy and gratitude." ... "After all these years of self-imposed solitude, how wonderful it is to have a friend by my side! I must do my best to make him feel at home. . . . I am off to the store for some banjo strings and microchips!"  
> -" **MY ASSISTANT** " "The past few days have been the most energizing I've had since I first came to this town! I don't think I realized just how isolated I'd become until F arrived, and his brilliant mind and amusing quirks have made this task infinitely more enjoyable."  
> Eep! I don't ship Stanford and Fiddleford in the original show. Stanford didn't deserve him. Just in AUs like Relativity Falls, where Ford is less of a ~~multiple crossed out adjectives~~ rude person.


End file.
